


Hidey Hole

by LunaStellaCat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-10-01 05:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10181774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaStellaCat/pseuds/LunaStellaCat
Summary: Kaspar Williamson takes on a new role after the end of the war.





	

Recently divorced. It sounded clinical. Kaspar Williamson played this back in his mind as he brushed his long hair and pulled it back into its usual ponytail. He did not sleep with his hair down, and someone had told him this was stupid because of split ends, or frayed ends, or something. There was definitely a reason. He couldn't recall why it the moment, and he wasn't some girl worried about bouncy locks. 

Happily divorced. Yes, he decided, checking his wristwatch, this sounded better. Finally free of the blood sucking, soulless vampire he once called wife, Kaspar felt like he could breathe again. Of course, it hadn't all been bad. He'd been married to her for seven years. And he got two children as consolation prizes, although she had been awarded custody by the courts. Well, it ended up being joint custody because his lawyer sent a Howler to the right people. Kaspar had earned summers, which would come in handy when the children started school, and every other Christmas. 

The day the Battle of Hogwarts ended, he got up, received an owl from Kingsley Shacklebolt saying the entire Auror Department had been disbanded, and went back to bed, fully dressed. His nap had lasted for an hour. It hadn't even really been shut eye. Kaspar lay in bed thinking how he'd never been unemployed a day in life. This wasn't going to stand! When he marched into the Ministry of Magic wearing wrinkled clothes and waving a bag of carry out. 

It was Saturday morning. Frankly, they were lucky he'd shaven earlier that morning. The Ministry of Magic, which usually buzzed with a little life even though it wasn't the regular work week, was dead. It was deader than dead. The government, a beating heart usually working in the background, had flatlined. 

Kingsley sat on the grotesque statue that had replaced the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Kaspar had walked by this thing day after day thinking whoever designed this "work of art" ought to have had been burned at the stake along with whoever had commissioned it. The latter was probably You-Know-Who. As of this morning, that man, that monster, at least in Kaspar's mind, was He-No-Who. 

Kingsley donned a casual suit; he wore Muggle clothes almost all the time now, which Kaspar thought was weird, given the man's name was in Nott's Pure Blood Directory thing. Kaspar, a Muggle-born, had gotten caught up in the Muggle-born Registration Committee, had been on the run for the last five months. He'd fled the Auror Department when Kingsley had tipped him off, telling him in no uncertain terms to run for his life and get the hell out. Neither of them scared easily. 

Gawain Robards sat on the floor with piles of paperwork surrounding him. A man married to organization and hard work, he did not look up until he had finished reading stuff on a legal pad. Was there no parchment in this place? He was a robust man, a fellow getting up there in years. He had stayed at the Ministry. A round faced man with greying curly hair, Gawain, regardless of whatever went down, always weathered the storm. 

Kaspar showed them the carry out as a peace offering. Gawain cheered. 

"You know what's difficult? Budge up." Kaspar sat next to Kingsley when he scooted over on the Magic is Might eyesore. "Paying child support when you're technically unemployed and on the run." 

Gawain handed the legal pad back to Kingsley after adding a few tweaks here and there. He caught the bag Kaspar tossed him and divided the spoils amongst them. "Unemployed is unemployed, mate. And I am sure the courts would have forgiven you." 

"There wasn't a legal system, not a just one," Kingsley pointed out. He read through his legal pad. Gawain bit into a pastry and said he didn't see the problem. Kingsley, distracted, waved in Kaspar's direction and gave a mirthless laugh. "You're single. Have you met his wife?" 

"Ex-wife," said Kaspar loudly, savoring the word. Kingsley snorted and continued reading his document. When Gawain asked a question, a fair one, Kaspar held up a finger. "We dare not speak her name, man. What're you doing? You're ruining my moment, Robards." 

Kingsley helped himself to a breakfast sandwich. "Why were you paying child support before you ended it? I'm guessing the divorce got finalized on Friday?" 

Kaspar nodded. "I don't know. It helps her get used to being alone with the change in expenses in a single household. Of course, you being the faithful, old school Mr. Catholic, you wouldn't know about divorce. You got a good wife." 

Kingsley actually did know quite a lot about the legal system. Before they went on the run from the Death Eaters, he and Kaspar had shared Kingsley's place, and they'd stayed out of each other's way as much as possible. Although Kingsley was a married man, a happily married man by all appearances, he'd lived as a bachelor since he'd gone after Sirius Black, and he wore his wedding ring next to the cross hanging around his neck. 

"By the way, my legal wife says you can't be my work wife anymore," said Kingsley conversationally, smiling when Gawain snorted coffee up his nose. Gawain set his thermos aside, coughing and spluttering. 

"You're divorcing me, too? Nice!" 

Kaspar had slept in Kingsley's guest room in his expensive flat in the middle of the city. Along with the child support payments, he'd been splitting the rent with Kingsley, too. He'd had no idea how Kingsley had managed to get the monthly house payments to his Muggle landlady. Of course, this now made him a homeless, single man. It was an unforeseen problem, but the arrangement had been a temporary fix. 

"Got a daughter. That's her bedroom. You can sleep on the couch," said Kingsley. 

Kaspar shrugged, taking anything he could get as long as he still had houseroom. The couch was comfy. Kingsley finished his food and wiped his hands on a napkin before tossing his trash into a bag. He clapped his hands together, ready to get down to business. 

"Oh, wait a minute. Wait a minute." Kaspar waved a half-eaten sandwich in the air. He had grievances to clear up before they moved on. "You sacked me? Look, you privileged rich boy ..."

"Minister," supplied Gawain, getting heavily to his feet. 

"Yeah, whatever, he's not said the words." Kaspar turned to Kingsley, who shrugged this off as inconsequential. He mentioned that he'd met with members of the reformed Cabinet and got sworn in secretly at dawn. The whole thing stayed under wraps. Kaspar stepped back, taken aback by this news. "Seriously? I'm sorry." 

"Oh, no, please continue. You called me a privileged rich boy." Kingsley parked his behind on the Magic is Might statue and gave Kaspar his undivided attention. Gawain called them both idiots. 

"Going to be Minister for Magic. You could've led with that," grumbled Kaspar. He collected all the trash in the bag and tossed it in the wastebasket. He flipped Gawain off when the older man added he acted like an aggrieved housewife. Kingsley tapped his watch, telling them he was a busy man pressed for time. This jarred Kaspar's memory. "Sacking your flatmate? That's like telling a horse to run a race after cutting the poor beast's legs off! Your place? It ain't cheap. Kingsley, we're mates." 

"Best mates," he said. 

"Yeah, yeah. What're you doing to me?" Kaspar got around to demanding answers.

Kaspar stamped his foot when Gawain started laughing. He hated single people; he envied them, really. Gawain, an officer, a dedicated no nonsense, Auror, had never married for a handful of reasons. Despite the fact that he was now a single man, Kaspar had responsibilities as a father. What was Kingsley playing at? Taking an executive order and yanking the department right from under them proved a dangerous move. 

Kingsley, raising his voice, threw out a name as a traitor. Gawain nodded, standing his ground. 

"What? Who is that woman?" Kaspar's anger evaporated like a popped balloon. 

He usually went by the Aurors assigned nicknames, especially the newer ones. They had this woman in custody, yet Kaspar couldn't remember her name for the life of him. Never mind that Kingsley had just said it. Kaspar, in his frustration, hadn't heard a thing, and the name of an unfaithful Auror meant nothing to him. Surprised at the security breach, he faltered. 

"Eyepatch?" 

"That's the one," said Gawain sadly, looking for some trinket in his robes, "and I trained her personally. Imagine how I felt when I realized she'd been feeding information to the other side all this time.” 

"She wasn't Imperiused?" Kaspar paced the Atrium because he felt better moving. Gawain shook his head, revealing Eyepatch had leaked his, Kaspar's name, to Delores Umbridge. Kaspar bit his lip, trying and failing to piece all of this together. "But she wasn't a Death Eater?" 

"Not all of them were," said Kingsley. Delores Umbridge had tried to save her skin, yet she was no Death Eater. "Gawain killed her yesterday. Eyepatch.” 

Kaspar reached over and shook Gawain's hand. A paper pusher and a stickler to the rules, Gawain sat behind a desk a lot, but he played the role of the fierce warrior whenever push came to shove. He was a fighter when they backed him up against the wall. Kaspar had witnessed Gawain dueling three wizards at once. There hadn't been a new recruit taken on since Nymphadora Tonks; the others who had joined on with her fell by the wayside. Granted, it was a demonstration for new recruits, yet it stood out in Kaspar's mind as one of the coolest things he'd ever seen. 

"Who wants head of department?" Kingsley threw this out casually like he'd asked one of them to carve the turkey at Christmas dinner. 

"That's Gawain," said Kaspar automatically. Gawain had been head of the department after Rufus Scrimgeour became Minister for Magic. 

"He doesn't want it." Gawain passed the torch without a moment of hesitation. 

"What're you doing, man? Power like that? You get to build the department from the ground up." Kaspar shied away from the responsibility because this would sap the life out of him. 

"Been there, done that." Gawain wasn't going to be swayed. He didn't want to be retired; he simply wished to be an officer again. 

"Why?" asked Kaspar shrewdly, wary before he got caught in a trap. Kingsley passed a hand over his face, saying they wasted his time. He possessed a finite amount of time here. He needed to figure stuff out and set things in motion. "Well, park your butt on the floor then, Minister, and hash things out because we're not done here. Not by a long shot." 

"You two are going to have to learn to speak to each other differently," said Gawain mildly. 

"Hey, you don't tell me how to speak to my work wife, thank you very much!" Kaspar and Kingsley shared a laugh. Gawain said they were idiots again. Swallowing his pride, knowing he'd regret this later, Kaspar, grumbling, sat down with Kingsley on the polished floor. He was no civilian. Kaspar couldn't very well turn his back on the government and pretend this wasn't everyone's problem. He was an Auror, an enlisted officer of the elite. A Lieutenant-Colonel. "What do you need?" 

"A list of candidates for head of department." Kingsley sounded a little frustrated. He had to take an unforeseen step back. 

"You've got one." Kaspar read over Kingsley's shoulder, took the quill out of his hand, and crossed this off the to-do list. Grinning, Kaspar jotted down his name, his rank, and his badge number to drive the point home, and Kingsley took this as good enough. Kaspar handed the quill back. "I need people to lead. Speaking of which, Mr. Clean Slate, what're are you going to doing when you reinstate officers and bring them back into the fold? What about their pension plans and their ranks?" 

"Ha! You're a candidate again. The bottom of the food chain." Gawain grinned at him. When Kingsley threw Gawain's rank back at him, the old officer frowned because he saw the problem, too. 

"The hell I'm not! Kingsley, twenty-one years." Kaspar was livid. 

Kaspar spun around to face his friend. Kingsley, who had clearly overlooked this problem, because it was written all over his face, started scribbling frantically on his paper, and he worked fast. Officers were entitled to a comfortable retirement after seventeen years of service to the Ministry. Kingsley himself, who had entered the Ministry with Kaspar, served as a Brigadier because he'd climbed through the ranks faster after getting promotion after promotion. Technically, as things stood at the moment, Kingsley was the highest ranked officer at the Ministry. 

"Lieutenant-Colonel," Kaspar demanded his rank and his privileges immediately. He pointed at the defunct fireplaces against the walls of the Atrium. Only a few of them were open as it was the weekend. It would be while before the Ministry of Magic was up and running again. "Or I walk." 

"Yes, yes, you keep your rank," said Kingsley, tired. This had slipped his mind, and he had a lot to be going on with at the moment. He flipped through his legal pad, tore out a sheet, and handed it to Kaspar. "Recruits." 

Kaspar, frowning, glimpsed at the three names listed here: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Neville Longbottom. Two of the names meant nothing to him; the name Longbottom was gold, pure gold, in the Auror Department. Trying not to get his knickers in a bunch, he mentioned this to Kingsley, who shook his head. 

"Mr. Williamson, who killed Lord Voldemort hours ago?" Kingsley raised his eyebrows, pointing out the painfully obvious, and Kaspar, ashamed, upped his ante to two worthy candidates. "Recognize." 

"Yeah, but Ron Weasley. Who that? Is he one of the kids of the bloke who plays with Muggle artifacts?" 

"I like Arthur Weasley," said Kingsley, shrugging. Kaspar looked him up and down, checking out his suit. Kingsley switched to a conversational tone, for he felt comfortable in his own skin. "You're Muggle-born. You bought me a toaster that one Christmas, and I loved it. Hey, hey, do you know what a microwave is?" 

"First off, you're a strange man." Kaspar rolled his eyes, letting Kingsley get off subject. "You can't operate a toaster or a microwave without electricity, Minister, and you don't need either one of those things." 

Gawain mentioned Kingsley was pressed for time. Kingsley, ever the multi-tasker, showed him the list he was drafting. He could put off meeting with the Minister of Muggles for a few days. After all, the government was in shambles, so what did it matter? 

"Seriously, though, if you're out window shopping and happen to walk by a microwave, and it crosses your mind that Kingsley really wants one of those your kindness wouldn't go amiss. Or nick one. The Minister for Magic did just hand you a coveted position. I'm simply throwing that out there." 

Gawain snorted. "Well played, sir." 

Kingsley thanked him, cool as a cucumber, for he'd pulled this whole thing off effortlessly. Kaspar gaped at him. He'd seen Kingsley under fire. The man had never, never ever, lost it in an interrogation, or in a duel, or under cover. They didn't have partners within the Auror department, but Kaspar considered Kingsley his man. 

"Coercion," Kaspar hissed through gritted teeth as he got to his feet. "Your wife won't like the microwave, Kingsley. Act surprised on your birthday." 

When Kingsley looked up from his work, glee on his face, reminding Kaspar of his children, Kaspar stepped onto the lift and allowed himself a smile. He escaped onto the second floor. He retreated into his cubicle because he wouldn't know what do in his private office. And he wasn't kicking Gawain out. 

 

When he got his first hit the next day, Kaspar wondered in what twisted black market world Kingsley Shacklebolt had been hanging with to consider the likes of Mundungus Fletcher as his ear to the ground. The recruits didn't come along. Kaspar knew the Department of Magical Law Enforcement usually handled petty thieves. As they approached Mundungus in an abandoned shop in Diagon Alley.

Kaspar surveyed the ginger haired man in tattered clothing with interest. Whatever he was hiding in his clothes, and Kaspar didn't want to know, made him appear bulky and misshapen. He smelled of drink. When a trinket out of the thief's coat, Kaspar bent to pick it up. 

"Not yours," said Mundungus, taking the dented pocket watch back. "S'up, Kingsley?" 

Kaspar rounded on Kingsley, shocked to see him smiling as he stood there. "And I'm out of line?" 

"Hey, Dung," said Kingsley, ignoring Kaspar for the moment. Kingsley donned robes today and sounded like he'd actually gotten sleep the night before. He reached inside his robes and handed Mundungus a few Galleons. So, they were buying answers from criminals, were they? "What have you got for me?" 

“Fer this? Nothing.” Mundungus flexed his fingers like he had an itchy palm. Kingsley simply stood there, his face expressionless. Mundungus took the bait and caved in a couple minutes. “Look, Kingsley, we’re all hurting here. We’re all comin’ off this war. You want me to risk my neck fer this? What’s this? Pocket change.” 

Kaspar enjoyed this exchange. Kingsley, a private person who kept his life behind closed doors, came from good stock. No matter what he pretended, and it was a good act, Kingsley came from a family with deep roots. True, he came from new money compared to folks like the Malfoys and the Abbots, but his name meant something in certain circles. Kingsley’s family wasn’t armed to the teeth with Death Eaters. Back in the day, way back in the day, they got their gold and their jewels from dabbling in alchemical pursuits. 

Kaspar knew this because Kingsley told him everything. He coughed, pounding his chest. “Pampered prince.” 

 

“What’s he talking about?” The thief wanted in. 

“Kingsley, we have a window here.” Kaspar didn’t want to waste time. 

“I know. Shut up.” Kingsley ignored Mundungus’s chuckle and slapped a small pouch into his open hand; Mundungus barely inspected his loot before he took it. “Names and hideouts, Dung.” 

“Selwyn is in the East End, 236 Wicker Street, and the bloke with the big nose is hiding out in the market. The one who walks like this.” Mundungus held his arms out from his body and stomped around as if he were a much heavier man. Kaspar almost told the man to lay off the drink for a while because he couldn't walk a straight line. “Dunno ‘is name. Don’t talk.” 

“Jugson?” guessed Kingsley, sounding like he took a shot in the dark. 

“Yeah. That’s the bloke.” Mundungus accepted the bottle of hard drink Kingsley took from inside his robes. When they turned to leave, he added, “When you meet that one, Jugson, you tell ‘im from me, he’s a git. Owes me money. I got him these rare goods, see.” 

“You’re dealing with him?” Kaspar only knew Mundungus Fletcher by reputation, but it figures that he would've made it through this ordeal unscathed. When Kingsley said it was time to go, Kaspar bit back whatever he thought of this man. “Are you homeless?” 

Mundungus shook his head, giving nothing else away. 

“Bye, Dung. Take a bath. You smell.” Kingsley raised his hand in farewell, and they got back on the street. Kingsley smiled at the indignation on Kaspar’s face. “That’s Dung on a good day. He’s harmless.” 

“We’re friends with Mundungus Fletcher?” Kaspar stuffed his hands into his pockets and marched beside Kingsley. 

“No. I am friends with Mundungus Fletcher. Not really. It’s complicated. You use whatever you’ve got in a pinch.” 

Kingsley acted as though he met with petty criminals all the time, although he distanced himself and adjusted his association with the man as they ventured onto Knockturn Alley. When Kaspar just stood there, he shrugged him off. Although there were places that had fallen to pieces in Diagon Alley, this place had thrived during the war. 

“I can do this by myself,” said Kingsley. 

“You can’t. You’re Minister for Magic! You’re an … you’re my boss.” Kaspar stopped himself from insulting his best mate; Gawain had a point about Kingsley being the man in charge. Grumbling that he hated the man, no matter who he was, Kaspar followed him. “You know where this black market is? It isn’t like people don't know who you are.” 

“I sell stuff here,” he said, amending this statement when Kaspar called his bluff in colorful language, “or I pass things off to Dung, and he gets the profits back to me after taking his cut off the top.” 

Kaspar understood that their job was not to shut down the black market. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement did stuff like that. When there was widespread terror over the last couple of years, the black market had spilled over into Diagon Alley. The black market, Kingsley said as he stopped by a table to examine amulets, held its rightful place in society. It survived whether society fell or thrived. 

He bought a wooden spatula and a kaleidoscope from a stocky woman who wore a plain dress. Talk came cheap with her, and she gave him the kaleidoscope free of charge. Giggling, she told Kingsley to give it to his daughter as a small gift. Thanking her before he continued on his way, Kingsley tossed the second black market find in the air and held it to the light. “That’s a good one.” 

“Bet these things are cursed.” Kaspar purchased nothing. Kingsley had more money than he knew what to do with, although he acted like an everyday man, and there was no reason why he needed to cut corners. 

“Kaspar, when you go to the bakery, you buy bread, and pastries, and whatever. It’s what’s there.” Kingsley showed him the spatula and slapped it against a nearby surface, startling a vendor. That? That’s handmade. You come here? You never know what you’re going to find here.” 

“You cook for a bachelor,” Kaspar pointed out, not seeing the point. 

“Ah, the funny part of that sentence, my friend, is so do you.”

Kingsley clapped a hand on his shoulder and steered him towards another vendor. As they shopped around, Kaspar noticed that Kingsley asked questions, carefully phrased questions, and played a sort of lottery. Sometimes, if he struck the right chord, he got answers. They were snippets. 

“If I were a rat, where would I hide?” Kingsley asked himself after an hour. 

He threw money at the problem around here, too, though he guarded himself and never said more than a hello. He wasn’t growing impatient. In fact, he seemed to rather be enjoying himself. Folks didn't know the Minister for Magic was the Minister for Magic yet, so he breathed freely. Kaspar, who was his equal, did not like the chase as much as the capture, yet he knew these things took time. Under Cornelius Fudge’s Ministry, he’d sat behind a desk. 

“Jump in anytime,” said Kingsley. 

“Well, he can’t afford Polyjuice Potion. I mean, even if he could brew it for himself, the ingredients are hard to come by. And who would brew it for him? He’s a Death Eater, but he doesn’t matter much.” Kaspar jumped into profiling mode. He was a man who sat behind a desk, but knew a lot. “Where would he hide?” 

“In plain sight. Who wouldn’t matter after a battle?” Kingsley bounced ideas off of him; they bounced ideas off each other. Perhaps it was easier to think when he said the words aloud. He scratched his chin. “Mundungus knows.” 

“Go fetch him,” said Kaspar, wondering why they didn’t drag him along in the first place. Kingsley shook his head, muttering to himself. “He’s not wiling to come out of his hidey hole?” 

“He won’t come. Mundungus doesn’t operate like that,” said Kingsley. No criminal stuck his or her neck out too far if they understood the rules of the game. “But why would he know?” 

“Maybe he’s working with Jugson,” said Kaspar. He pointed out what he thought was the obvious answer. Kingsley said no. When they started coming back the way they came, Kingsley refused to hear any of this nonsense, and Kaspar found this an annoying move. “No, listen.” 

“You don’t know him,” said Kingsley. 

He didn't bother explaining the faith he placed in Mundungus, which infuriated Kaspar to no end. Kingsley didn't trust people blindly, and he didn't wear his heart on his sleeve. As they swept past the vendors, Kingsley pulled out his wand and picked up the pace. Kaspar, completely confused, followed his lead. When they got back to the nice lady with the trinkets, he took his shot. 

“ _Stupefy_!” Kingsley acted on instinct before the woman had a chance. Shocked, she toppled over her stand and the shoppers, most of them standing around because the good stuff was gone, screamed. Ignoring Kaspar’s protests, he walked over and kicked the body. 

“What the hell?” Kaspar, recognizing the sharp features and the woman’s build, stared back at Jugson. He pointed his wand at the man’s chest and said, “ _Rennervate_!” 

Jugson’s eyes fluttered open and he caught his breath. He stared back at them, shocked and pale. 

“One question.” Kingsley stepped on Jugson’s hand. If the man wished to reach for his wand, he had no way out. Although Kingsley spoke with his usual calm, there was malice behind his words. He applied pressure to Jugson’s hand, and the Death Eater cried out in pain, his face beaded with sweat. “How did you know I had a little girl? If you or any of your little friends comes after my friends, I will find you, and it will not be a good day for you, sir. And that’s not a threat, Jugson, that’s a promise. Choose your words carefully.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. I liked the character of Williamson and decided to write this after I figured they had to pick up the pieces after the end of the second war. What'd you think? I'd love to know.


End file.
